Chapter Text
Makoto was too beautiful for her death.
There are moments Ei imagined she must have been all the more too beautiful for life, and that was why she was taken away.
(She knows, of course, reality is crueler than that.)
No consideration—that was how Makoto died. Something too big for her to fight against that it was all that consumed Ei, her eternity mere moments in comparison. And when the blade cut through Makoto, she was too small to even be spared a thought. Her killer did not even know she was killed. It was as simple as that, she was as fragile as that.
This was not how a god should die. Least of all the best of them. Somebody had to remember her heart, her light.
Makoto's tenderness was powerful. She was gentle—her refusal to die was none the less gentle, nor powerful. She was strong that way—strong in ways Ei was not.
Makoto would have wanted her to live on. Was it not selfish of her, too? That she should die first and leave Ei to despair her passing?
Perhaps this was the better outcome. Would she rather lose Makoto, or have Makoto lose her?
She promised an eternity together.
Ei sees her own reflection, and wills Makoto back to life.
.
.
.
Birds are singing outside, and she can picture the bend of the branches from the weight of them.
A sweet aroma is wafting into the room: herbs and meat, and overseasoned cooking, as though someone has snuck in for more flavor. The cushion is soft on her knees. She’s been here before.